


One Dance

by evangelinerose



Series: Draco One Shots & Drabbles [12]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Language, Masquerade Ball, dystopia au, voldemort wins au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:41:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22749511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evangelinerose/pseuds/evangelinerose
Summary: Reader shows up somewhere she shouldn't. Luckily she can hide her face.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Reader
Series: Draco One Shots & Drabbles [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1427173
Comments: 14
Kudos: 68





	One Dance

It was unwise to be here.

All of her senses told her so.

Her heart thrilling rapidly in her chest, every beat of it painful against her ribs; the adrenaline pumping through her veins, making her lightheaded; that little voice, the cautious little hum in her head that was whispering softly, faintly:

_Go back to headquarters. It’s unsafe here. The risk is too great._

But she couldn’t go. Not without at least seeing him first.

 _Just once,_ she had told herself, when she was justifying what she was about to do.

_I just want to see him once, speak with him once, make sure, at least, that he’s still alive…_

It was nerve-wracking walking in to the party like she belonged there, because she most certainly didn’t.

Quite the contrary.

If this hadn’t been a masquerade and her identity had been known, every single person in that room would draw their wand on her. She’d be captured and tortured and enslaved. Walking into this ball—this event put on by the Death Eaters themselves—as a member of the slowly dwindling Order of the Phoenix in this world would have been suicide, had her face been showing properly.

 _Perhaps it still is_ , hissed the traitorous voice in her ear. _Go back_.

 _No_ , she argued with herself fiercely, though she was half mad with the need to see him again, her judgment clouded. _My mask is flawless. It hides me well_.

It was black, for she had found that fitting, given the company she was about to keep, and given the state of the world and who was currently ruling it.

Her mask was almost like a full veil, starting at her hair and covering everything but her eyes and mouth with a sturdy, intricate black lace, giving her the appearance of someone formidable.

When she entered the room all she wanted was to find him. She was confident in her ability to do so, even with him being disguised. Perhaps he had even colored his far too recognizable platinum blonde hair. It wouldn’t matter. She would still find him. There was a distinct way he walked, a characteristic habitual gait where he always held himself perfectly straight and tall, proud and haughty. An aristocrat’s posture.

She knew him well, better than she had ever intended to know him; and better, she was sure, than he had ever intended her to as well.

But love was a fickle and strange thing, and it even happened in war.

Just as she suspected, she caught sight of him almost instantly when she entered the grand ballroom. Her eyes followed him carefully for a few moments to confirm—and yes, she could see it, even if he had used a Glamour charm to disguise his hair and turn it a dark brown that evening. The texture and style of it was unmistakable. How many times, after all, had she run her fingers through it in an abandoned corridor or behind a tapestry, sighing when he moved his lips like fire across her throat?

“We shouldn’t be doing this, Draco,” she’d always whisper back then, because it had felt like the truth.

“Then tell me to stop,” he would always challenge her, his voice gruff, before once more capturing her lips with his.

He knew she didn’t want him to stop. And she never did ask him to; it had been him to end things, that final year at Hogwarts. He had stood before her and told her, coldly, with eyes like ice, that whatever they had was over; and she had felt her insides collapse in on themselves but had only nodded, stiffly, and after almost two years of having him as a secret they didn’t speak again.

 _I’m gathering intel by coming to this_ , she had tried to convince herself, but she knew she was only here for him.

And so, squaring her shoulders, she swept across the room to him, took a deep breath, and said to him, “A dance?”

She saw the smallest hint of a smile under his own mask, though his eyes remained inexpressive as they briefly flicked her up and down. When his gaze locked on her eyes again, she saw no hint of recognition there.

He had not realized it was her voice, her walk, her shape. The disappointment was powerful and bitter and incredibly unwelcome, but she swallowed it.

“I cannot deny a woman a dance,” he said smoothly. “And especially not one that looks like you.” He held out his arm, and she placed her hand on the crook of his elbow, allowing him to guide her out to the dance floor.

He had begun to spin her when she said, very sweetly, “But you can’t even see me. My mask is thorough.”

“I see enough,” he answered, his voice like silk. “Those eyes, in particular.”

“I can see I’ve chosen a charmer,” she responded, feeling a pang in her chest. She had not thought this through. She had thought he would recognize her. She did not think she would be bearing witness to how he was, at least for him, casually flirting with another woman.

But then he tugged her a little closer by the waist to murmur very quietly in her ear, in an angry tone very different from before, “What the _fuck_ do you think you’re playing at, Y/N?”

Her fingers momentarily gripped tighter to his shoulders. “I thought for a moment you didn’t know it was me,” she muttered back, under her breath.

“Of course I do,” he hissed, as she spun a brief circle and then came back to the previous dancing position, with her pressed tightly against his chest. “And you need to leave,” he continued. “Now.”

“Can’t,” she said. “Official business.”

She felt a muscle in his neck spasm under her fingertips, and he still sounded furious when he spoke again. “Liar. You came here to see me.”

“Merlin, your ego was always massive in the very worst of ways—”

“And you were always weak for me, and a rotten liar. I ended things. I don’t want you here. Leave, Y/N.” His voice was harsh and she blinked rapidly to avoid the accumulation of tears that were burning in her eyes.

“I—I just wanted to make sure you were…okay,” she whispered, mortified and hating herself.

“And now you’ve done it,” he answered. The song ended; they paused their dancing. And then he leaned forward, just the slightest bit, to again put his mouth right near her ear. “It was foolish and unsafe for you to come here. So go, Y/N. _Now_.” She could see his gray eyes flash with fury and anxiety, now hovering only inches from hers.

“Draco—”

But he shook his head sharply, cutting her off, before carefully bringing her hand to his mouth and kissing it, lingering just a moment longer than necessary. “A pleasure to dance with you,” he murmured, in a pleasant, distanced tone; and then, after one last sweep of his gaze across her face, he turned and began walking briskly away.

And she also turned sharply and began to hurry away, before anyone else could ask her to dance, before she was caught, and before she could cry.

**Author's Note:**

> language. reckless decision making. light sexual themes. angst


End file.
